Chapter 8: The Night He Sent for Garrick

Corwin's POV

I sent for Garrick Dunleavy at ten that night.

He came in his dress uniform with the medals still pinned on, and he did not salute.

I let that go. A man who has been publicly refused is allowed one bad hour.

I stood behind my desk with the decline on the blotter and a candle lit beside it.

Six years ago I had read that page and burned my own answer to it.

I kept the page. I had never been able to say why.

"Your Majesty," Garrick said. "I've come to ask for a private word with Miss Ashworth."

"You've come to a private word with me."

"She's overwrought. Her sister told me how fragile she's been. If you'll release her, I can bring her home and this will pass."

"Release her," I said.

He heard it then, and his chin came up.

"She is my fiancée."

"She was your fiancée until this morning. The Crown struck the registration."

"The Crown struck it because you wanted it struck."

I looked at him.

I had expected a fool. I had not expected him to be right.

"Commander, how long were you in Southbay?"

His face stayed smooth. It was the one thing he had learned well in five years.

"I was on a classified mission in the northern territory, sir."

"Under whose order?"

"The Guard's. I can't say more."

"I am the Guard's order," I said. "I sign every classified deployment in this kingdom."

"I have signed none with your name on it."

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